


'Cause it's early days

by deepestbluest



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Characters, Blind Senju Tobirama, Blind Uchiha Madara, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestbluest/pseuds/deepestbluest
Summary: When Madara calls his father to let him know, Tajima’s initial reaction is exactly what Madara had expected: a sigh, a reminder that Madara will be fine just like every other Uchiha has been, and a promise to email him the family’s resource document.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 14
Kudos: 130





	'Cause it's early days

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second take on Madara being blind, I know ~~(The first few sections were part of an early draft of the first fic)~~ , but I wanted to write more of him pining and interacting with Tobirama. As with the first fic, I'm not blind, so if I get any details wrong or they're insensitive, please let me know so I can revise them
> 
> The title is from "holy terrain" by FKA Twigs

Hashirama is waiting for Madara at their usual park bench. He's uncharacteristically restrained, greeting Madara merely by lifting the drinks he's holding. His left hand has Hashirama’s perpetual companion, a tall water bottle Tobirama gave him years ago. His right hand has Madara’s thermos. It, too, was a gift from Tobirama, but unlike Hashirama’s elegant metal bottle, Madara’s thermos is an eye-watering shade of red.

It does keep his drinks warm better than any other thermos he's tried, so Madara kept it. Trust Tobirama to choose a gift that's both a dig and useful.

As Madara reaches the table, Hashirama slides Madara’s drink over.

“Coffee,” he says before Madara can ask. “Tobirama made it.”

“Did he spit in it?” Madara asks reflexively, accepting his thermos as he sits down.

Hashirama hangs his head. “No, Madara. My brother didn't spit in your drink.”

“Did you watch him? He's very sneaky.”

“What did the doctors say?” Hashirama asks, sidestepping the question.

Madara sighs. “You couldn't let me have a little fun first?”

Hashirama’s expression turns stricken, his concern becoming guilt for accidentally forcing Madara’s hand.

“Izuna and I both have the gene.” Madara fiddles with the top of his thermos. “He seems to be just a carrier, at least as far as we can tell, but I definitely have Ōtsutsuki's. The sharingan has already started to form.”

“Did they give you any idea of how long it will take?”

A very Hashirama way of looking at it, Madara thinks. Hashirama doesn't see endings as reasons to mourn; they’re merely places where new things begin.

Madara’s diagnosis isn't a question of how long it will take Madara’s body to destroy its own eyes. It's a question of how long it will take before Madara can begin life as a blind man.

That attitude would be annoying if it weren't just how Hashirama is. He reacted the same way when his father refused to pay for him to go to college because Hashirama wanted to be a doctor instead of an engineer, when the study Tobirama had fought for years to run got scrapped, and when both younger Senju brothers died.

“Probably less than a year.” Madara takes a sip from the thermos. As promised, the coffee is strong, and because Tobirama made it, it tastes good. “But who knows? It takes as long as it takes. My grandfather didn’t have much difficulty until he was fifty.”

Hashirama squints at him, thinking hard.

Sooner than later, Madara won't be able to see him make that face.

“At least I kept my vision long enough to see you grow out that bowl cut,” Madara says weakly. It's an easy joke, but it doesn't feel as good to make as he'd thought it would. “Don't think you can get away with giving yourself another one when I can't see it.”

Squinting harder, Hashirama tilts his head.

Warning bells go off in Madara’s head. “What does that face mean?”

“Nothing!” Hashirama says too quickly.

“Hashirama,” Madara warns. “Why are you making that face? Don't try to say it's nothing. The last time you looked at me like that, you made off with all my wine- which you still haven't paid me back for, by the way.”

Eyes wide with exaggerated innocence, Hashirama says, “I was just thinking that you might enjoy a bowl cut. It might suit you."

“Come near me with scissors and I’ll put them in you,” Madara hisses.

The noise Hashirama makes, coupled with the way he slumps over, is so familiar, it makes Madara’s heart hurt even as he laughs. He's going to miss seeing all the details of his best friend’s overreactions.

But, he reminds himself, he’ll still have Hashirama. They'll still have lunch together every day, and Hashirama will still annoy him.

⁂

Madara is working with Izuna after lunch when there's a series of sharp raps on his office door. Before either of them can answer, it opens and Tobirama marches in.

“My brother says you've got Ōtsutsuki’s,” he says, skipping a greeting. “When are you going to be free?”

Izuna frowns at him. “Of his vision?”

Madara can't tell because Tobirama's sunglasses are in the way, but if he had to guess, he'd say one of Tobirama’s eyes is twitching.

“Of you,” Tobirama counters. “I was asking when your workday ends, Madara. My brother asked me to tell you I’ll help you optimize your office and equipment. Your condition has similar effects on your vision to what I have to account for, yes? I can make the transition smoother.”

The way he says “asked” suggests Hashirama didn't phrase it as a question.

“You couldn't call?” Izuna grumbles. “We’re working.”

“Would you have answered if I had?” Impatience pouring off him, Tobirama taps the side of his cane with one finger. “Do you want my help or not?”

At a gesture from Izuna, Madara leans toward his brother.

“Kagami likes him,” Izuna says, voice lowered.

Madara hums thoughtfully. “That's true, but Kagami likes everyone.”

“He wouldn't have given Tobirama any details if he didn't also trust him, though, and it must have been Kagami who told him. Tobirama wouldn't know enough about Ōtsutsuki’s to compare it to himself if an Uchiha hadn't told him.”

Kagami's choice to work for Tobirama had felt like a slap in the face at first, but having a cousin whose name is linked to Tobirama’s has brought a steady stream of rich clients to the family firm. Kagami himself seems happy as well, enjoying life as one of perhaps seven people Tobirama likes.

Madara isn't sure why Kagami trusts Tobirama so much, but as long as his cousin is happy, Madara is willing to accept that Tobirama can be civil.

Heaving a sigh, Tobirama puts a hand on his hip. “You do realize I can hear you, right?”

Madara and Izuna ignore him.

“He wouldn't piss off Hashirama just to mess with us,” Madara allows. “And he does like Kagami. Even Tobirama wouldn't upset his favorite intern just to annoy us.”

Izuna nods.

“Then it’s settled,” Madara says, straightening up. “Come by after your working hours and I'll let you help.”

Madara can feel the frustration pouring off Tobirama. It's reassuring to know Madara will never have to go without the satisfaction of annoying him.

“I make my own hours,” Tobirama says slowly. “Pick a time, Uchiha.”

“Eleven PM.”

“No.”

Izuna snorts.

“You did say I could pick,” Madara points out.

“If my brother didn't like you so much… I’ll come over at seven o'clock this evening. No need to have your clown join you.”

“Hey!” Izuna shouts.

Tobirama turns and leaves without another word.

For the first time since they were children and Madara met Hashirama's inexplicably beloved little brother, he notices the sound of Tobirama’s cane.

⁂

Tobirama arrives with a drink in one hand, a backpack on his back, and a look of determination on his face.

“I'm not going to waste time on details doctors and support services will give you,” he announces.

“No coffee for me?” Madara asks.

“Hashirama gave you what I made earlier. If you need more caffeine than that, you'll have to hurt yourself with your own wallet. And this is herbal tea. It's decaf.”

Madara doesn't entirely believe that, but he doesn't press the issue.

“Well? What are you going to do for me, Tobirama?”

There's a beat of silence as Tobirama shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“I don't understand why my brother likes you so much, but I don't hate you. I don't hate Izuna either, though you're both difficult to deal with.”

“It's hard to tell because you're being a jackass, but is this the start of a heart to heart?” Madara asks, incredulous.

Tobirama purses his lips. “I hope not.”

“So what is it?”

“Empathy. You're going to live like I do, Madara. I don't know what going blind is like, but I imagine it won't be easy. You'll still live a good life, but the world wasn't designed for our ease of use. I've had my entire life to learn, and I still struggle at times.” He clears his throat. “Even if Hashirama and Kagami hadn't said anything, I would have offered.”

The joke Madara had been about to make withers in his throat.

“There's no reason for us to be friends,” Tobirama continues, “but I’m not going to take advantage. There are enough people looking to do that.”

Madara hears the reprimand for what it is and feels an unwelcome flash of shame. He's known Tobirama for so long, he’d forgotten that as independent and self-assured as Tobirama is, he does rely on the people around him not to be malicious.

Hashirama has only truly lost his temper with Madara once. It hadn't seemed like a big deal- Madara had just moved Tobirama’s cane out of the way so he, Hashirama, and Izuna could play without tripping over it- but Hashirama had shouted at him so hard, the sound had drawn both of their fathers to Madara’s front yard.

There had been a moment as Butsuma and Tajima made their way over that Madara hadn’t recognized Hashirama through the rage on Hashirama’s face.

All Hashirama had wound up doing was turning his back on Madara, but he might have done worse if Tobirama hadn't said he wanted to go home.

If Tobirama hadn't stopped Hashirama, Madara might have lost his best friend for good rather than the day it took Hashirama to decide Tobirama didn't hate Madara and that Madara might have moved the cane because he hadn't known he shouldn't.

Swallowing, Madara says, “I appreciate that.”

“Good.” Tobirama takes a sip of his drink. “With that out of the way, let's talk about your stairs and how terrible the lighting is.”

⁂

When Madara calls his father to let him know, Tajima’s initial reaction is exactly what Madara had expected: a sigh, a reminder that Madara will be fine just like every other Uchiha has been, and a promise to email him the family’s resource document.

Then he asks a question Madara should have anticipated.

“I don't know what Hashirama will do, Father,” Madara says tightly. “It doesn't concern him.”

Tajima sighs a second time. “I wish that were true.”

⁂

By the time he turns thirty-eight, Madara is officially blind.

⁂

If there's a perk of being blind, it's not having to work as hard at not noticing that his one night stands aren’t Hashirama. So long as they're buff, smell nice, and have low voices, they're close enough.

None of them is so close to Hashirama that Madara can't tell they're replacements, but finally being held down by someone heavier than he is makes up for it.

Closing his eyes had been conspicuous back when he could see; now, no one thinks twice.

⁂

“Which do you like better, Madara?” Hashirama asks. "You've got good taste in cologne."

Madara, who'd been making himself comfortable on Hashirama’s couch, grunts.

Hashirama whines, and Madara reluctantly waves him over.

"Do I get to know what they are, or am I stuck hoping Tobirama’s taste has improved since last time?”

“That was on purpose,” Tobirama calls. From the sound of his footsteps, he's in the kitchen. “If I had to smell him, so did you. He did better this time."

“It wasn't that bad!” Hashirama protests.

“It was,” Madara and Tobirama say in unison.

“You didn't have to say it like that…”

“They're right, though.” Izuna shifts next to Hashirama. “You like sandalwood too much.”

“It smells good!"

Hashirama takes Madara’s hands in his, and, with a prayer that Tobirama isn't playing a trick on him, Madara brings Hashirama’s left wrist to his face.

Surprised, Madara says, “Oh, it isn't terrible.”

It's even good. As an adult, Hashirama has mostly moved away from musky scents. The good ones tend to be floral or citrus, more like women's perfume than men's; lighter scents suit him better.

“I told you it wouldn't be!” Hashirama mutters.

“Because there's no sandalwood,” Tobirama points out. “You always pick bad blends with that.”

Thinking back, Madara realizes Tobirama is right. The worst colognes Hashirama has tried have always included sandalwood.

“And the other one?” Hashirama asks, voice sour.

Madara releases Hashirama’s wrist and brings the other close.

Leas floral, more woodsy. And much lighter; Madara probably wouldn't notice it if they were outside or if Hashirama hadn't asked him to check.

“This one,” he says certainly. He taps Hashirama's wrist. “This one is better.”

“He picked the one on the right,” Hashirama announces. “Same as you, Tobirama.”

He doesn't pull his arm away, and for a moment, Madara is almost holding his hand.

Then Tobirama calls Hashirama over and Madara sinks back into the couch, both hands empty.

Izuna sighs. “He's so dumb.”

“Better dumb than a stronger version of Tobirama.”

They're still commiserating over the horrors that would entail when Tobirama and Hashirama return.

Hashirama drops down on the couch next to Madara hard enough to make Madara wince, but the usual arm around Madara's shoulders doesn't come.

Instead, Hashirama shifts again “Are you okay, Madara? You look like you're in pain.”

“You did just sit down like you wanted to bump me off a seesaw.”

“Maybe I did sit down too hard, but you've been holding yourself oddly all day. Did you fall? I'll talk to the property manager-”

“I didn't fall!” Madara hisses. “And I'm not holding myself any special way. This is normal.”

“No, I know how you sit, and this isn't it.” Voice soft, Hashirama asks, “Don't you trust me?”

Tobirama saves Madara and damns him in the same breath by saying, “Hashirama, leave him alone. He obviously got laid. Unlike everyone else in this room.”

“Hey!” Izuna shouts. “You don't know about me!”

“I know you have the temperament of a pig and smell like one, too. If you've slept with anyone, it was out of pity.”

Izuna tenses. “I'm going to murder you one of these days.”

“Not if you can't catch me.”

“That happened _one_ time when we were _sixteen!"_

“But it did happen,” Tobirama says.

Madara can feel the smugness radiating off him.

He concentrates on that feeling as Izuna grumbles to himself and starts the movie they gathered in Hashirama’s apartment to watch.

Hashirama doesn't put his arm around Madara, and being annoyed is better than feeling unwanted.

⁂

Even if Hashirama won't touch him, other men will.

Madara knows his way around a pay by the hour motel.

He had to learn new ways to work out, and the men he's brought to that hotel can't seem to stop telling him how strong he is.

They're right that they couldn't keep up with him; there's only one person who ever could.

⁂

When Hashirama gets engaged, the dream Madara’s been nursing of finally being the one getting pushed around stops having the glow of potential.

Hashirama wouldn't cheat; he wouldn't be Hashirama if he would.

A self-destructive part of Madara considers approaching Tobirama, but he abandons the idea as quickly as it came to him.

He isn't that far gone.

⁂

“So,” Madara says, “Hashirama and Mito. Shouldn't you love this?”

Tobirama hums. “Theoretically, yes, but reality and theory aren't the same. It's like _in vitro_ versus _in vivo._ What works in the former may be useless in the latter.”

“Can’t you talk like a normal person? You haven't even told me why I'm here and you're always getting into metaphors.”

Tobirama hums. “I suppose you could say I was worried about you.”

Madara snorts, too familiar with Hashirama’s little brother to believe him. “I could, but I know better. You don't talk to me unless it benefits you. Unless you just want to brag about Hashirama not having time for his objectionable friend?”

“Do you really still think I’m-” Tobirama heaves a sigh. “You worry me, Madara; I won't deny that. I don't want my brother to get hurt, and you bring so much chaos, getting hurt is inevitable. You loving him won't keep him safe. That doesn't mean I want you to be unhappy.”

Heart in his throat, Madara snaps, “I don't love him.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve loved him for so long I feel the kind of sadness that makes me wish I didn't know.”

“So that's why you invited me here,” Madara says, voice rising. “To give me your pity, Tobirama? To warn me away? To caution me against acting out and hurting your brother and his wife to be? To keep the crazy Uchiha in line?”

“I invited you here because I’m concerned!” Tobirama shouts. Voice softening, he continues, “As I said, I don't want you to get hurt. And if that isn't enough to satisfy you, then I’ll add this: they broke off the engagement.”

The world tilts.

“When?” Madara asks.

“Two weeks ago. That's why Hashirama hasn't been coming to your lunches. You were wondering about that, right?”

Madara has been, but he won't admit that to Tobirama.

“Why didn't he tell me?”

“It’s a mystery,” Tobirama says, voice dry.

The back of Madara’s neck prickles. “Tobirama,” he warns.

“I gave up believing I could keep him away from you years ago. He's going to get himself hurt one way or another. He may as well be happy when he can be.” There's a rustle- Tobirama getting up. “Hashirama is just feeling guilty. Call him. If he's going to leave his apartment for anyone, it's you.

“And if you want to thank me for this, you can get your demon of a brother to stop harassing me about his laptop. He's the one who dropped it, and I don't work with hardware.”

Madara folds his arms across his chest. “I didn't say I was going to thank you.”

“Typical. But for the record,” Tobirama says evenly, “I know your family isn't crazy. Only parts of it are. My condolences on being from a lesser branch than Kagami.”

In the time it takes Madara to parse the insult from the near-compliment, Tobirama is gone.

“Am I grateful to Kagami or do I want to yell at him?” Madara wonders aloud.

There's nothing to say he can't do both.

⁂

“That woman would have fucked you, you know.”

Hashirama makes a soft sound- his mouth must be full. It's the only time he doesn't have something to say.

“You aren't going to move on from Mito if you won't even consider fucking someone else. I suppose dating someone else is more your speed. Hold a different hand, walk someone to a different door. That sort of thing.”

“How do you do it?” Hashirama asks.

“Me?” Madara is the worst person to ask. Even if he weren't in love with Hashirama, he's never been able to let go of anything. “I try someone new and hope they distract me long enough that I start to like them.”

Hashirama's frown is audible as he asks, “Does that work?”

“No, but what does?”

⁂

Madara was too impatient to call anyone, and as he miserably makes his bed with clean sheets, he's relieved.

It’s going to be too hard not to say Hashirama’s name. He doesn't care about these other men, but the only thing worse than not having Hashirama would be not having a good replacement.

⁂

Hashirama goes to a club with one of his other friends, but the gossip about him and the man he left with reaches Madara anyway.

Izuna invites himself over, and the two of them make a drinking game of Wheel of Fortune.

With five shots in his belly, Madara isn't coherent enough to imagine Hashirama fucking anyone, much less remember Obito’s description of the twink Hashirama practically carried out of the club.

⁂

Madara sets his thermos down and sighs happily.

“Your brother does make good coffee,” he tells Hashirama. “I can almost forgive him for giving Izuna a black eye.”

“Progress at last,” Hashirama says brightly.

“Speaking of progress, I hear you finally tried to start moving on.” Swallowing his discomfort, Madara asks, “How do you feel?”

Hashirama sighs. “You and your cousins talk too much.”

“Was it bad?” Madara asks, hopeful despite himself.

“Bad? No, not at all. It was actually really good. Do you know, I hadn't slept with a man in years? Not a bad way to get back into it at all.”

“I see.”

Madara should have known the question would backfire.

“Is something wrong?” Hashirama asks. “You're unusually quiet.”

“You're happy, the firm is doing well, and I’ve got a booty call I like.” Madara hasn't called him in more than a month, but they haven't actually broken anything off. “What could be wrong?”

⁂

Hashirama is drunk.

Madara is drunk.

They're both drunk, and they're kissing on the roof of Hashirama's apartment building. Madara can taste the wine Hashirama was drinking. Hashirama likes sweet wines; this is probably the only time Madara doesn't find the taste too sweet to bear.

The cologne Madara picked months ago smells even better on Hashirama's neck.

Hashirama leans in closer and kisses Madara harder. Next to the cold autumn air, his hand is hot where it's curled around Madara’s thigh. His hair is soft where the wind is gently blowing it over Madara’s face.

Madara squeezes his hands by his sides. He wants to touch Hashirama so much it hurts not to reach for him, but Madara’s sense of where he is isn't reliable and he won't fumble. Even for Hashirama, he has to keep his pride.

Breathing hard, Hashirama says, “You can touch me, you know.”

Madara’s hands stay where they are.

Kissing Madara’s neck, Hashirama says, “Please.”

His breath is hot against the chill, and Madara shivers.

One hand twitches toward Hashirama.

“I can't find you,” Madara rasps.

“But I'm right- Oh. Why didn't you just say?” Hashirama picks up Madara’s hands and lays them on his shoulders. “Here I am.”

Madara slides his hands to Hashirama's neck, then up to cradle Hashirama’s face, and Hashirama makes a soft, pleased sound.

Here he is.

Madara tilts his head for another kiss, and when Hashirama kisses him, he can feel Hashirama’s smile against his lips.

“Are you going to regret this?” he can't help but ask

Hashirama snorts. “I had two glasses on a full belly, Madara. I could probably outrun Tobirama right now.”

“Last I saw, your brother was heckling mine on the phone despite being in the same room. Tobirama probably couldn't find his feet if you put his hands on them,” Madara points out. “And there’s more than one reason to have regrets, Hashirama.”

“There is, but I’ve wanted to kiss you for years.”

Hashirama kisses Madara before Madara can answer.

“I'll never understand how you can drink gin,” he says when he pulls back. One hand cards through Madara’s hair. “It tastes like sadness.”

Despite himself, Madara chuckles. “You just like sweet things.”

“I do, but not exclusively.” He steals a quick kiss. “I’m fond of Tobirama, after all.”

Madara shakes his head. “So even you admit he's a pain in the ass.”

“I’m not in the habit of ignoring reality, and everyone who isn't one of his interns knows my brother isn't easy to get along with.” Hashirama sighs. “He’s so stubborn, I thought he'd tank his own mentoring problem.”

“Instead, he's got six bright programmers eating out of the palm of his hand, my cousin included.”

Hashirama chuckles. “He adores them, so it's mutual eating out of palms.”

“You didn't actually say anything disgusting, but it feels like you did.”

Hashirama leans back and laughs, full and booming, the kind of laugh Madara never learned how to do but loves in Hashirama. His eyes must be bright, his mouth curved in a delighted smile.

Madara misses seeing him, but it isn't so bad.

Soon enough, he’ll be pushing Madara into his mattress facefirst, and Madara wouldn't be able to see him anyway.

“Hey, Madara,” Hashirama says brightly.

Years of friendship have taught Madara to be wary of that tone.

“No,” he says quickly. “Whatever you're thinking, no.”

Hashirama whines and lays his head on Madara’s shoulder. His soft hair tickles Madara’s neck; his breath is warm on Madara’s throat.

Despite knowing better, Madara asks, “What is it, Hashirama?”

“I was just thinking- we’re together now, right?”

“We are.”

“So if we keep going and you and I get married, that would make you and Tobirama brothers-in-law, right?”

“We’re never getting married,” Madara says flatly.

Hashirama laughs again, and Madara shakes with the force of Hashirama’s joy.

“Ass.” Madara pushes at Hashirama. “We haven't even been on one date and you're talking about marriage.”

“Just testing the waters,” Hashirama replies. He lets himself be pushed, but he leans back in a moment later for a quick kiss. “Let's go back in.”

“Why? There are too many people. It's hot.”

“For one, Tobirama just messaged me because Izuna is threatening to set him on fire again.”

That does sound like Izuna.

“He's never actually done it, though,” Madara protests. “If we go back, you'll go play the good host again.”

Hashirama hums thoughtfully. “It’s better to be safe than sorry with the two of them. Do you need any help getting up?”

He doesn't deny that he’ll go back to playing the good host.

Resigning himself to sharing Hashirama already, Madara nods- it's too dark to be sure he’ll balance himself correctly, and he’d rather not fall on his ass. When Hashirama’s hand closes around his, he braces himself against it and pushes himself upright.

Hashirama doesn't let go as they cross the roof, and Madara doesn't see any reason to make him.

Tobirama will be fine.

From his pocket, Madara’s phone announces, “New text message from Izuna.”

Tobirama will probably be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to, you can say hi on [tumblr](https://asotin.tumblr.com)!


End file.
